


The Test

by KPP (mad2Bhere)



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Anal Sex, Angel Corruption, Angels Are Weird, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Corruption, Fix-It, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Shapeshifting, Time Skips, Unhealthy Relationships, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-02 18:58:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15802590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mad2Bhere/pseuds/KPP
Summary: In which Deputy Rook is actually Joseph Seed's guardian angel.





	1. Chapter 1

 

When his overseer tells him that he's now ready for his final test with a twinkle in her eyes and a file in her hand, he doesn't even try to keep the smile off his face. She may call it a final test, but in truth it's already his first real assignment. It will naturally be a simple one, one that is almost guaranteed to succeed unless he's particularly incompetent or his charge incredibly unlucky.

He accepts his assignment with barely veiled enthusiasm, feathers bristling in excitement as he skims over the file.

 

 

\-----------------

 

 

The first couple of years pass without any major incidents, but that was to be expected.

The birth of the third son was apparently neither planned nor wanted, and it adds a complication he's not sure how to deal with. The family is more brittle now, like there's little kindness to be given to each child now that there are so many of them. His focus must be on his charge, always, but he was chosen for this position because of his empathy, and his heart goes out to the oldest son who takes their parents' abuse while his siblings sleep upstairs, unaware.

It gets harder to stay his hand when they finally turn on his charge.

He's not supposed to intervene yet and so he doesn't.

Not directly, anyway.

He has always considered the rules to be mere guidelines anyway, and as long as his efforts are successful he won't be reprimanded, maybe he'll even be praised for his ingenuity.

So he makes sure the street is deserted before manifesting in the guise of a young man, someone whose face he learned to copy a long time ago and who will not be recognized here, someone who already died two centuries ago in another country.

It takes him a few seconds of frantic searching, but eventually he finds a heavy brick that will suit his purposes just fine. He picks it up and hurls it at the living room window, which shatters in an explosion of glass and noise.

By the time the parents come down to check he's already erased his physical form and is back in his charge's bedroom, sitting next to the crying, bleeding child, trying to offer what comfort he can when the boy can neither see nor hear him.

He does that often, lately.

_You may not reveal yourself to him. You may not speak to him._

These rules leave little leeway, and he chafes under them whenever his boy cries.

At night he comes into their rooms, one after another, and brushes a soft, invisible wing over their small bodies to calm them in their sleep. It helps, but never for long, and never for good.

 

 

\-----------------

 

 

None of his siblings ever come for the other two brothers, which starts to feel like a grievous oversight when the fire tears the family apart for good. The boys scatter in all directions, and he files an urgent report that requests – not for the first time – that someone gets assigned to the younger brother. The oldest is already an adolescent but the youngest is still a child, and his reports of his earliest years are detailed enough that someone could still take him on.

He won't know what becomes of John because he gets adopted quickly, while his own child languishes for a time.

Some people try, but Joseph doesn't really fit anywhere. He was always a quiet child, doesn't open up easily, trusts even harder. He needs a gentle hand, someone who will be patient with him. Most of all he needs his brothers: He misses them fiercely, cries himself to sleep some nights, and only the soft brush of feathers can calm him down. That's a violation, that's not allowed, but the boy reaches for him, reaches for anything that will offer salvation.

Joseph remains alone, until he is too old for anyone to care about that.

Shortly after that he has to intervene twice, in the way he was always supposed to and yet in a way he hoped he would never have to.

His boy – is a man now, but it's difficult to remember that when he has been around for all of it, and a mortal's life is so fleeting – his boy carves into himself sometimes, words mostly but also plain lines, and when he cuts too deep in the wrong place his life is even more fleeting.

There's no one there, no one who would make sense, no one whose face he could take and make Joseph accept it as probable. No one who would come to save him. So it has to be something generic again, the same dead man he always chooses when he's in a hurry.

It's not believable. He sees it in Joseph's face when he opens his eyes. His charge has been squatting in an old abandoned building lately and no one has any reason to come and check whether anyone is inside. So his story about just walking by and coming in on a whim is certainly sketchy, but he can't very well tell him the truth.

"What is your name?", Joseph asks from where he's lying, still weak but safe now. There's something in his eyes that wants to cling, that carries the cautious hope that forces the question past his lips. That's when he notices that he's too close to Joseph, too familiar for someone that pretends this is a chance encounter: He is still cradling Joseph's head in his hands, thumbs gently stroking the skin around his eyes. There have been too few soft, not hurtful touches in Joseph's life so far.

Again, the truth is not an option.

He makes something up, something he hopes is suitably common in this era. When Joseph asks him whether they'll meet again, he chuckles softly.

"I'll be around", he says cryptically, and makes sure he's out of sight before erasing his form.

 

 

\-----------------

 

 

Something changes after the second time he saves Joseph. He is startled enough that he assumes a physical form that's not just similar, but actually the very same he wore the last time, which is a rookie mistake.

Of course Joseph recognizes him. Once is a coincidence, a one in a million chance, not impossible but highly unlikely. Twice has more weight, feels like something with meaning, with purpose.

He sees the realization in Joseph's eyes and quickly disentangles himself from where he is draped over Joseph _again_ , too close and too intimate once more.

"Stop doing that", he tells him firmly. "I don't ever want to find you like this again."

"Will you come for me again if I do?"

The truth is _never_ an option. It feels like he is close to figuring something out, and they are still only in the early stages of his life.

This final fest was supposed to be easy, but it already seems like he will only manage to pass by the skin of his teeth.

"One day someone might not", he mutters. "And there are better ways to get people's attention. Try talking to them, and you'd be surprised how many would be willing to listen."

Joseph reaches for him, touches the side of his face and tries to pull him back in with trembling hands, but it doesn't take much to resist him.

"I'll be around", he repeats before he leaves, because he feels like Joseph needs to know that.

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

In the weeks after Joseph is more focused, like he's working towards something. He is no longer drifting through life aimlessly, which feels like an improvement.

 

 

\----------------

 

 

Eventually Joseph is reunited with John.

It is a bitter-sweet moment. His charge's obvious elation at finding his brother is at war with his own deeply-rooted sorrow that there's no one standing behind John's left shoulder. He reaches out mentally just to make sure, but there is no answer to his silent call.

No one ever came for John after all.

He steps close while the brothers embrace, brushes a wing over John's shoulder as he steps close, just like he used to do when John was a child. And apparently John remembers: His smile grows wider, and he buries deeper into Joseph's arms.

"Now we must find Jacob."

 

 

\----------------

 

 

It's the day after all three brothers are together once more, the day after the hugs and tears and whispered apologies. That is when Joseph first mentions the voice, and his vision.

He gets it then, why he was assigned to Joseph and not to any of his brothers.

His true test starts now.

He hoped Joseph would become happier after finding his family, and he does smile more often and seems more positive in general; but it feels like he keeps them at a distance even when he holds them close.

Joseph is all grown up now, and each day it gets harder to spot any trace of boy he once was.

People do listen when Joseph talks, just like he promised they would, but there's not enough of them. Especially after they move to the mountains, where people are wary of strangers.

Joseph doesn't lose faith, doesn't get discouraged, but he is only human and the constant rejection he faces is too much for him. There are only so many blows a man can take, and Joseph has already been beaten down too often. He thinks he's running out of time, that he will if he doesn't try harder. The brothers make a choice, even if they don't realize it.

He cries for them when they do.

He keeps watching for as long as he can stand it, until it gets too much to bear.

Then he makes a choice as well.

 

 

\------------------

 

 

All eyes are on him when they enter the church, not on the Sheriff or the Marshall but on _him_ , like they can somehow tell there's something special about him.

Joseph falters in his speech for a second, eyes gliding over him and then quickly snapping back to his face, as if there's anything for him to see. He should be unrecognizable in this disguise, a new face that maybe shares a few features with his other one, but nothing that should give Joseph cause to stare at him this long. Eventually he continues on, and a few minutes later they are sitting in a helicopter together. Then they are falling.

But not very fast, and not very high.

There are three of his siblings present, assigned to Whitehorse, Pratt and Hudson respectively, and they ensure the fall will not be fatal for any of them. If they recognize him, they don't mention it. Still he has his own assignment, and despite the Marshal's incredulous face he tugs Joseph close to his side to shield him with his body when they crash.

Joseph's words are still ringing in his ears, the quiet certainty of it, the determination.

_God will not let you take me._

He wanted to laugh then, to cry for him, but that would probably have been out of character for the man calling himself _Deputy Rook_.

Joseph repeats it again in the burning wreckage, acting like he doesn't have to be afraid of the fire when it's already so close, licking at his feet, at his very soul.

 _God will not let you take me_ , as if this is something to be happy about.

He knows so little, and what he knows is horribly twisted.

"Stop this", Rook says. "The path you're on will not lead you to salvation."

Joseph just smiles at him.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No rookie angel should ever, ever learn how to save people's souls by practicing on John Seed.

 

 

And suddenly he is standing outside Dutch's bunker, completely at a loss.

He is not supposed to fight humans. Definitely not allowed to kill them. He exists to aid, to heal, to provide guidance. Now someone put a gun in his hands and told him to go because he is the only one left, because someone must make this right.

For the longest time he just listens to the birds and the wind in the trees, surrounded by the beauty of creation.

This cannot be the answer.

He cannot sacrifice other people to save his charge.

But what is he supposed to do when he has already tried everything else, when all he's been taught amounts to nothing?

Joseph must be saved, but he must also be stopped.

_You may not reveal yourself. You may not speak to him._

That's why he is here like this, in a mortal form. Like this he can speak to Joseph – because it's not him who speaks, it's _Deputy Rook_ , and that is more than a mere technicality. In his mortal disguise he's just a man, and Joseph can take his advice or leave it. Freedom of choice also includes the freedom to choose the wrong path, and the creature called Rook can never take that from Joseph.

He cannot upset the balance, cannot interfere with the plan.

He must fight for his charge's soul, but he cannot fight the way a human might.

And so his takes a bow, and his own arrows, and starts trying to make things right.

 

 

\------------------

 

 

The Seeds don't take him seriously at first.

He aims to subdue and capture at all costs, which makes his efforts seem half-hearted in the eyes of nearly everyone he meets.

Until his approach starts yielding results, and he becomes impossible to ignore.

Then John comes for him.

And John remembers.

He remembers, he recognizes him, but he doesn't _realize_ it.

They are kneeling in the river, John's face inches from him, his fingers curled into Rook's jacket like he just wants to hold on and never let go. He seems surprised by his own gesture, doesn't understand what he's trying to do, all wide eyes and open mouth. Rook reaches up to grab hold of his wrist, not to push him away but to hold him there, to anchor him. An invisible wing brushes over John's shoulder, and for a second his face is a mixture of wonder and hurt.

 _I have loved you since the moment you were born_ , Rook wants to tell him, _because no one else would._

"I'm so sorry no one came for you. It wasn't right. You deserve someone just for you as well."

There is confusion in John's eyes before his expression settles, before he smiles, seemingly at peace.

Then he pushes Rook backwards into the water.

John's hands are on his throat, squeezing so hard he's certain something in there would break beneath that pressure if he were mortal. He's not even drowning, if only because John's tight grip doesn't allow him to draw water into his fake lungs. He kicks out, thrashes, and he's not even acting now. He's genuinely distressed: Why would his boy do something like this? Is John...

Is John trying to _kill_ him?

He never finds out, because Joseph makes him stop.

By then Rook is shivering, feeling colder than ever. It's not the water, that outside influence barely registers – it's John's eyes that are still on him, still looking at him like their owner wants him dead, and that's – he's not sure what that is. It's new, but other than that?

It hurts.

He knows John has done worse. He knows John has killed, that he enjoys hurting other people (and Rook watched and did nothing, nothing at all). He knows there are humans who lose themselves to that darkness.

Rook just feels so _cold_ right now.

And he can't help it, his eyes are drawn to his charge, looking for answers the man probably won't have.

He is not constantly watching Joseph anymore because he's out here, fighting to save the rest of the world from him, and each day they spend apart hurts him, saps a little at his strength. Being this close is revitalizing, makes him stand taller despite the ache in his borrowed bones. Joseph's hands are warm on his cheeks, driving away the memory of John's coldness.

"You have to stop", Rook tells him, because Rook is allowed to talk to Joseph, even when _he_ isn't.  "Or the gates of Eden will remain closed for you."

Joseph just smiles indulgently again.

He is not a creature that knows how to feel anger or resentment, so Rook's mind answers with the emotion that feels closest: Sorrow.

 

 

\-----------------

 

 

He is being judged constantly. A thousand eyes on him, observing and reporting. One such pair of eyes belongs to Hudson's guardian right now, looking at him from the other side of the room, watching his struggle dispassionately. No help will be forthcoming, no guidance, because this test is about finding out whether he can provide guidance to someone.

He's in the wrong place for that. It's Joseph he needs to focus on.

But the day John was ripped away, the day the family broke apart he was there, wrapping his wings around the little boy until he stopped crying. Tiny hands flexing like they wanted to reach out even though there was nothing to touch, only warm thoughts without any substance to them.

And now he has to know.

John has him tied to a chair, but Rook is the one who has John caught.

His wings are not quite there, not in a physical sense. They are intent, emotion, memory. Children can feel them, and sometimes adults remember the sensation. It might bring a smile to their face, but anything else is beyond them.

And yet John follows, lets himself be drawn close. He allows himself to be led until his knees bump against the chair, and then even further when Rook keeps guiding. Eventually John has climbed all the way into his lap, looking utterly confused, with Rook's wings forming a tight cocoon around him.

And that's just.

It's almost like he's _here_ , almost like John sees him. Or maybe not, but it's still pretty damn close, close like a puddle of muddy water is close to being an ocean for a man that only knows the endless desert. He can never be seen, can never be a part of anything. Can watch. Can stand there and do nothing while his world falls apart. Always, always on the sidelines.

John only sees Rook the man, but that's still closer than anything he could have hoped for.

He is being judged, silently and constantly, and no help is forthcoming.

 

 

\--------------------

 

 

"Stop it, John." He tries for commanding and fails utterly, because this is not a situation he ever expected to find himself in, not ever. "You mustn't do this."

It's difficult to concentrate while John unbuttons his shirt, but he has to focus and add details to his appearance he never bothered with before. No one was ever supposed to see him naked, and now he has to shift in a hurry to make himself appear more humanlike. He has no idea how many of his kind ever attempted anything similar – as far as he knows, he would be the first to be cast out for the transgression that is about to occur.

"Please John, I can't – " Rook cuts himself off when John's hands find his belt, a desperate noise stuck at the back of his throat. "I will lose everything, and you will gain nothing. You will doom us both."

John – his John, so kind and precious and innocent, so many years ago – is naked in his lap, a long line of broken, damaged skin. Scars and tattoos woven together, a large tapestry of suffering Rook never wanted to see. He too has words carved into his skin, something Joseph taught him, words he calls sins even though they are just that: Words. Clues. Stories. His whole self laid bare for Rook to read.

He knows what John wants from him, even though arousal and desire are feelings reserved for physical beings. What he doesn't know is why.

Joseph explained to John why this is not a healthy way to live his life. John is supposed to be past this and Rook hasn't done anything –

"Don't lie to me, Deputy. I can tell you're enjoying yourself as well."

He reaches into Rook's pants to prove his point, and looks almost insulted when he finds Rook flaccid and not at all keen to continue this.

John has already taught Rook about violence. He has learned enough about it to brace himself now, to be ready when John leans down for a kiss that's too much teeth, too much pain. The man wants to bite his lip, wants to pierce the skin, but Rook is still figuring out how to simulate injuries with this body.

"Don't do it, John. I'm not – "

_I'm not here for you._

He can't say it, not to his precious little boy.

"Please don't make me hurt you", he finishes instead.

Because he could, because he has to if John doesn't stop. His hands may be tied to the bedpost, but it would be simple to free himself. He cannot simply disappear, that might reveal what he is, but he could use his powers to free himself and incapacitate John. He won't though, not unless he has no other choice.

They are steadily getting closer to that point, however. John seems intent on making Rook an active participant on this, strokes him and nibbles gently on his neck. It's stimulation, and it's good stimulation, and Rook is one second away from testing the strength of the ropes binding him.

But then John suddenly falters, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. It's the noise that does it, John's soft, desperate keening, that makes Rook look up and spot the invisible outline of his own wings draped around the man on top of him, drawing him closer and holding him down. Rook didn't even notice he was doing that.

"I _know_ you feel it too", John whispers against his neck, before going back to pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses all over his throat, biting in between, hard enough to draw blood on a mortal. "You were made for me."

"John, you – "

"Want you inside me." Rook's mind goes blank at the mental image, at the sheer depravity of it (never, never, not for someone like him, he's _not like that_ ), his task suddenly forgotten. "It'll be good, you'll love it, you'll see."

There's something else buried beneath his words, and Rook's been at this long enough to read humans, to translate the things they can't or won't say. In this case it's something confusing, something hurt and ashamed.

When he gets back he will have words with his overseer.

If he gets back.

He's not so certain about that anymore, because he is hard in John's hand now and that's already a transgression. There should be a punishment of some kind, but it doesn't come. The world allows John to sit up a little and hold Rook's cock steady as he lowers himself again. And Rook just watches, utterly motionless, braces himself for pain that doesn't come, utterly unprepared for what comes instead.

No one told him about this, no one warned him this could happen.

Rook should stop him.

He has to stop him.

He can't stop him.

He just watches, and his last chance to act passes without him doing anything.

The moment they touch he loses a part of himself.

It's not a sin if two people love each other, and while Rook is fairly certain he loves John he did not have faith John would feel the same way about him. To John he is a stranger.

"You make no sense." John hisses the words through bared teeth, falling back into anger since that's safer, much safer than anything else.

He's clearly in pain – he rushed this, he's stretched and slick around Rook but he still rushed it, always too greedy, always so trusting and hopeful that he pulls things to him even when they hurt. To a certain extent he seems to relish that: Soon he sets a brisk pace and takes what he needs from Rook, and that appears to be pain as well as pleasure. There is something violent about his motions, something that has no place in such an intimate setting, but John still feels warmer, so much warmer than during their previous meetings.

His body is almost too warm around Rook. Each sigh, each gasp, each tremor of John's body goes straight through him.

"Mine", John repeats, almost manic, eyes searching Rook's face for confirmation, for proof. "Don't tell me you can't feel it. You belong to me. Say it."

Rook can feel it, all the way down to his core. Or maybe that's just John's body squeezing him, holding on to him like Rook is all that matters in the world.

This is not Rook's to have.

Whatever John is looking for, Rook can't give it to him.

But none of Rook's siblings come down to destroy him for his audacity. John's soul is not burned away, and his eyes are still bright and warm.

It's not a sin.

It's _not_.

"I love you."

That is not what John expected. He falters, then frowns like Rook is mocking him. Again his hands close around Rook's throat, and Rook is starting to see a pattern there.

Rook wants to wrap himself around him and make sure nothing bad will ever touch him again.

 

 

\--------------------

 

 

"Confess. Tell me your sins, and if you speak true and genuinely regret your actions, God will forgive you."

Any other time that declaration would probably lead to John hurting him again, but right now he just laughs.

"Are you stealing my lines now?"

They are together in the dark, and John is a nice warm weight on top of him. Rook is still a little overwhelmed by this development, that holding John close is something he is allowed to do.

John's personality feels softer now, more pliable, less prone to violence. Approachable, like he'll listen this time.

"I may have broken some rules, but I have not sinned. God disapproves of anything that hurts another living creature. You remember that, don't you, John? Your sins are grave indeed, but all you need to do is repent."

If John repents, if he seriously regrets his actions and tries to atone, then someone will be waiting for him at the end. Maybe they'll even allow Rook to do it. To hold his dying body and accept his last breath, then guide his soul through the gates. He hopes that will be many years from now, after he has lived a long and happy life.

But apparently he pushed too much, too soon.

"You don't get to preach to me", John snarls, and proceeds to hurt Rook again.

 

 

\---------------------

 

 

"I know you take your job seriously, but that piece of shit definitely needs to die. If you won't finish it, I will."

Looking for someone who will take his side Rook turns to Pastor Jerome, but the man just shakes his head. Apparently he's alone in this.

"He's a sadistic prick. You've seen what he's done all over the valley, right? He tortures people because he thinks it's _fun_ , Rook. If there really is a god who is fully behind that kind of shit, then he can go fuck himself."

 _He is my child_ , Rook wants to tell them, but he's aware of how that would sound. Still, he was there when his parents brought John home, watched him grow up until he was ripped away, and that's something he will never forgive himself for. He should have intervened then, made sure the brothers stayed together. Maybe then this whole madness could have been avoided.

One of Rook's brothers stands beside Mary May as she reprimands him. His face reveals nothing.

"If you want to kill him, then you'll have to go through me", he declares, then holds his breath as everyone around him goes eerily quiet.

 

 

 

\--------------------

 

 

John calls him sometimes on his radio. Usually he's threatening him whenever Rook destroys something John is fond of, but every once in a while there's something softer about him, almost like all he wants is to hear Rook's voice again. He's invited him back to his bed a few times, and Rook is starting to run out of reasons why he shouldn't.

And so eventually he is back between John's thighs, preying on that connection John should have forged with another human being instead of pushing it on Rook. He can't really understand why he does that: John is handsome, and he still remembers what being kind is like. He would make another human very happy.

He also makes Rook very happy. There's something about being seen, being reached for, being kissed that's almost too much to bear every time it happens. He is no longer a bystander. He is a part of this, of John's life. He can hold him, talk to him, stop him from hurting himself. But he also has to stop him from hurting others, and that's where things get difficult.

It might be easier to talk to him when he's like this: Spread around Rook's cock, gasping ever so softly to signal that he will soon find completion with Rook inside him. When the facade falls away and he reveals his scars openly; when he is not just eager but desperate to please in the hopes that Rook will keep him, that Rook will _stay_.

It always takes him a long way to get there, though. Rook can never know whether John calls him because he wants to get intimate or because he wants to lure him into a trap – or maybe both at the same time.

Just like he can't seem to figure out whether John loves or hates him.

Every time they do this John hurts one of them. It's like he can't sit still without clawing at someone's skin. There's something wrong with him, an important part that's fundamentally broken. Rook fears the child he knew has been dead for some time, but he just can't let go.

"My boy", Rook whispers into his ear, "my sweet little boy."

And John looks annoyed for a second but because he doesn't get it, because Rook is not allowed to explain it, he grins and calls him _daddy_.

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

John likes to pretend that this thing between them doesn't have weight, that they are both only in it for the sex, but Rook knows the truth.

John's love is a jagged, crooked thing, all sharp edges and hurtful words. Rook has learned how to bleed, how to give John the pain he sometimes wants from him. He has words on his skin now, PRIDE and LUST, and he doesn't understand why John calls those sins when there's nothing sinful about what they do.

If there were, then Rook would be long gone.

On his end Rook tries to use John to get to Joseph, but if he wants that plan to work he must get through to John first. Confession is all he asks for, repentance, atonement: If John only asked for forgiveness, Rook would grant it to him.

He can hardly stomach own John's brand of forgiveness.

Churches, or rather any and all kinds of places dedicated to a kind and gracious god usually serve as a sanctuary to him. They restore him and grant him a moment of respite – but not in Hope County. Each time he steps into a holy place he is struck by the absence of purity.

Blood has been spilled there, everywhere, and it will take a long time until the land is clean again.

He watches John spill blood in a church.

Perhaps he waited too long. He should have intervened sooner, right at the start. He made exceptions for Joseph (Joseph cannot kill because the world will not let him, because _Rook_ will not let him, because he intervenes every single time Joseph raises his hand against another human being) but not for his brothers.

Now John smiles while he tears people's skin off.

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

No one ever comes for John.

The world is silent around them. There's the crackling fire, the screams of the dying, but when Rook calls out no one answers. His siblings are all over the county, some of them are close, and they must hear him, _see_ him, but no one comes.

No one comes for John when he falls.

Why did they have to fight with _planes_ of all things?

He couldn't use his arrows and now John is bleeding, bleeding _out_ on the ground in front of him.

And no one is coming. None of his siblings appear to guide John. His soul will not ascend because his sins are still weighing him down.

"Confess. Repent. There's still time, it's not too late yet."

But John just looks at him like Rook is making fun of him right at the end. He knows that face, he knows John wants to hurt him again, but he doesn't have the strength anymore.

"Please, John. I can't help you if you don't confess."

And _why_ is no one coming?!

That's not what he wanted, it's not what he fought for. This almost feels like –

"So the good deputy knows how to kill after all."

The bloody smile is vicious and mocking, tearing at Rook like a knife.

Right now his body feels too small to contain his emotions. They are threatening to tear through the makeshift seams of his skin, through all the open and half-healing wounds where John cut him open.

This is not what he is. He won't kill John. He can't kill John. He _didn't_ kill John. He shouldn't be able to kill John. It just can't be.

"Always knew you had it in you."

John laughs at him, at the face he must make, laughs until he's coughing up blood. And even though he's like this, angry and hurt and in pain – he looks so different now at the end, younger, brighter, the final spark of a flame before it fades to nothing.

No, that's not, that's _not_ what Rook is.

There is no such thing as a guardian with blood on his hands. There just isn't. It's just not possible.

But then what is he?

No one taught him how to deal with loss.

Everything is eternal, except the soul of a sinner.

Where is everyone?!

"I beg of you, John. Just say the words. Just tell me you're sorry. Please."

But John's eyes are already closing, his hand already falling away from Rook's wrist. He is two breaths away from his last, and he will not repent.

There's another way. He could give John more time – except that he can't. He can't do it by himself, not yet. He's still in training, his healing powers are sealed so they only work on his charge, and that's not John.

He cannot. He should not.

He is not here for John.

The seals have been in place for so long that they've become a part of his very being. Tearing at them means tearing at his own soul; gaining these powers when he isn't supposed to will make him lesser, not more.

He does it anyway.

Rook doesn't scream as he tears himself apart piece by piece while his siblings look on in silence.

 

 

\--------------

 

 

When everything is said and done Rook drags himself into the nearest ditch and closes his eyes. Exhaustion is a feeling that's reserved for beings who were born with physical bodies, but even though he is just playing pretend he can't find the strength to lift a single muscle. Even retreating back to his natural form would take too much energy. There is too little of him left to even manage that.

His face is wet. With tears or blood or sweat, he's not sure. Everything feels the same.

His radio crackles to life all of a sudden, an ever so brief flash of static before the voice that follows makes him flinch.

"The next time you shoot somebody you might want to stick around to make sure they're actually dead."

John's voice lacks its usual flair and he has to pause after every other word to take a deep breath, but the smug tone is enough of a clue that Rook doesn't need to worry about his life any longer. He was agitated, and there was so little of himself to pour into John that he wasn't sure whether he'd make it. Relief has never felt so painful because –

"Not that you'll get the chance. I'll be ready, and next time you'll end up with a bullet in your skull."

His radio is down on his belt, but it could just as well be at the other end of the county. His arms won't move; he'll never get it. The tiny key of the bunker he destroyed is still clenched tight in his fist, and his fingers just won't open. It doesn't feel like he's won.

Would John really try to kill him? Despite everything?

"Are you listening, Rook?"

He is, keeps listening as John's soft starts losing his temper and his insults turn shaper.

And he has no idea what he is supposed to do anymore.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... You know that trope about angels/robots/alien gradually learning to become more human as they spend more time on earth and start caring about the people they meet?  
>  Yeeeeeeaaaaaaah...


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

After that John lays low. There are still occasional radio messages, but no one spots him anywhere in the county, which makes it safe to assume he has retreated to Joseph's church, the one place where no resistance member dares to go.

Rook doesn't go to check.

He doesn't think he can stomach the sight of John right now.

His speeches are all anger now, all hatred and _wrath_ , no hint of the more intimate moments they shared. It seems that is Rook's reward for trying to sparing him. There are no more soft flirtatious comments, like Rook overstepped some line by saving his life and this is the one thing John can't let go.

Rook doesn't understand.

He doesn't understand anything anymore.

For a few days he lingers in the valley, waiting for something that doesn't come. John's followers are more serious about hunting him down now, aiming for the kill in accordance of John's orders that should be a direct violation of Joseph's. In the end Rook can't take it anymore and decides to head north, forces himself to be productive again.

Jacob has never been his priority. When the brothers were children Jacob was something of an ally to him: He'd look out for his siblings in a way that Rook couldn't, a much more tangible and real way. He was grateful and saddened Jacob chose such a fate for himself. It seems he still prefers to battle his problems head on, and the state of the resistance in his territory is proof of  that.

"I appreciate the help", Eli declares warily, not looking particularly appreciative at all. His bunker is filled to the brim with people wanting to help, looking _for_ help, or just searching for a safe place to stay, but Eli still offers Rook a bed. He can't afford to share what little he has, and yet he does it anyway. "You should spend the night, clear your head, then go back to where you came from."

"Why would you say that? I just told you I'm here to stop Jacob."

"And that's a nice thought, but you're in over your head. I heard about what happened in John's region. Hell, I think everyone's heard. You had him right in the palm of your hand – and then you let him go.

"If you try that shit with Jacob he will rip you apart the moment you turn your back on him. You have to get your head out of the clouds. If you still think this is something you can end without killing anyone then you're fighting the wrong war here. Go back home, kid."

There was a time when those words would have pulled a slow, indulgent smile from Rook. Such a simple, human thought. Dead or alive, black and white with nothing in between, when mortals are really such messy creatures that everything is in shades of grey. Rook has to hold himself to a different standard.

He is not smiling now.

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

Jacob probably remembers as well.

It's almost like he can see Rook's wings: Each time he reaches out Jacob takes a small step to the side to avoid getting into contact with them. It appears to be an involuntary movement, one that confuses Jacob as well, but he has clearly learned to trust his instincts.

He stands in front Rook's cage, just barely out of reach of his wings.

"So you're the guy that's been fucking my brother. Sorry that didn't work out for you, by the way."

Rook says nothing to that, and when Jacob's mouth slits into a grin it looks like a blade being unsheathed.

"He asks about you sometimes. I think he's missing you. Perhaps I'll send you to him once you've proven that you can behave. Would you like that?"

"I would like you to repent, you and your brothers."

Jacob's smile widens.

"So you do figure yourself some kind of preacher. Don't bother, you don't have Joseph's gift for it."

It seems Rook truly doesn't. Nothing he says seems to get through to people, and no one ever listens. Not Joseph, not John, and not Jacob.

"I'll be back in three days, see what you have to say then."

And with that Rook is being left in the darkness, all by himself.

 

 

\---------------------

 

 

For centuries he has been observing humans, long before he ever showed the aptitude to watch over them. He has seen empires crumble, has seen death and destruction on an unimaginable scale.

He knows what starvation looks like. Exhaustion. Thirst. 

He knows what Jacob is aiming for when he denies him food, drink and sleep. He knows what Jacob wants it to do to him. What he doesn't know is why. What he doesn't know is _how_.

It is one thing to know what effects this could have on a mortal body and another thing entirely to act like he's actually suffering. This is different from John's pain – Rook has gotten good at blood, frighteningly good, but this? He knows this torture is supposed to break his spirit, not his body, but what does that look like? They keep him separate from the other prisoners so there's no one to imitate.

Jacob comes for him after exactly three days.

Two men drag Rook out of his cell while Jacob watches them with the wary air of a man who has done this a thousand times before and doesn't expect anything to go differently this time. For the first time since Rook came here he seems unguarded.

He moves fast, not quite brushing his wings over Jacob's shoulder, the motion is too quick for that, but the impact is still soft, gentle. Again Jacob tries to sidestep, just a little too late, and for the briefest moment there's a single point of contact between them.

And Jacob flinches like he's been shot.

He ducks and rolls, carefully protecting his right shoulder like he just received a horrible injury. Everyone else just watches as he instinctively retreats behind cover.

Jacob remembers _something,_ alright.

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

He won't break, not the way a human would. Not like _every_ human would.

"It doesn't matter what you do. You won't make me kill, no matter what."

It's difficult but not impossible to get through Jacob's maze without taking the weapons Rook is being offered like shiny beacons in the dark. With his mind clearer than anyone else's he can make it, can sneak up on them from behind and incapacitate them with his bare hands. It's not easy, it leaves him bleeding again, but he can do it, he has to do it.

A bowl of dog food sits untouched right in front of his cage. He'll have to go for it eventually to keep up his act, but not while Jacob watches. He has to make a point.

"I will not break."

Jacob seems to take that as a challenge. His smile is grim, and there is a dangerous gleam in his eye.

"That's what they all say at first. You're tougher than most, I'll give you that. Now I get why my brother has his eye on you. But you won't last. No one does. Every man has his limits."

With that Jacob proceeds to tell him how he himself broke, and in a way it's just like John's story. Something happened to him while Rook wasn't looking, while he was with Joseph, and now Jacob can no longer find himself again. It almost makes sense, except that it doesn't – because if this is true, then how did _Joseph_ break? Rook was watching him always, every second of every day ever since he was born, so when did he screw up?

"Five more days. We'll see how you're feeling then."

 

 

\-----------------

 

 

He remembers the song and what it means to Jacob.

It calms Rook in the dark, reminds him of simpler times, when his three boys were still innocent and pure. There was so little that belonged solely to Jacob, so little he tried to keep for himself. He gave everything of his to his brothers, until there was nothing left to give.

"For the last time, I'm not handing him over."

Jacob's voice is calm as he keeps talking down whoever is listening on the other end of his phone call. Rook can only hear Jacob's side of the conversation, but he has a pretty good idea who he's talking to.

"Go hash it out with Joseph if you don't like it. You had your chance and you botched the job. Now it's my turn."

A brief glance to where Rook is languishing, pretending to be drugged out of his mind.

"Stubborn. Powers through with willpower alone. ... Never had anyone else last this long. I might have to let him roam free for a while before I accidently turn him into a vegetable. ... There's something about him, John."

A longer silence during which there is nothing but the song in Rook's head. It had a different meaning a long time ago, but now the blood and the pain becomes a part of it, just like it became a part of Jacob.

"No, that's precisely why you can't have him. You can't _handle_ him."

When Jacob spares him another glance there is a softness to his smile Rook has never seen before. It is not the smile of his childhood, because that never promised violence.

 

\----------------

 

"Do you really think you can save anyone?"

Jacob's voice is close, too close – Rook has been drowsing, but now he's wide awake. He flinches away from the bars – he has learned how to get hurt now, and he has learned how to be afraid.

He's still in his cage, his home for what feels like years, and once again Jacob is just out of reach. Ten people are sitting behind him tied to chairs, their backs against the wall. Just like any other victims Rook has seen here they look wild, half feral, more animal than human by the look in their eyes, and their eyes are all focused on Jacob. They all know it's him who will decide their fate, and that Rook can't do anything to stop him.

(He could, he _would_ if it were Joseph instead but it always costs him dearly, and these men would have died anyway even if Rook hadn't come here. He is mostly unmoved by their suffering, and that is perhaps what should scare him the most.)

"You spared them but they still lost to you. That makes them weak, and you know what happens to the weak."

Rook knows indeed. There is no need for Jacob to draw his knife for emphasis.

"A bullet would have been kinder, you know. I take no pleasure in this, but you have to see that what you're doing won't change anything."

Jacob starts with the man in the right corner, and then slowly works his way towards the other end of the room. The soldier probably knows how to do this quick and painless, but instead he aims for bloody and painful. Rook has to watch Jacob gut one after another, watches them bleed out, has to keep watching for nearly half an hour until the last one stops twitching. It's nothing he hasn't seen before, except that it is: This is Jacob, _his_ Jacob, tearing through people like their lives mean nothing just to prove a point.

 _Why?_ Rook wants to ask but doesn't, because he fears the answer. _Why would you do this when you hated your own father for hurting you?_

Jacob was always angry, always reckless for as long as Rook has known him. He remembers him sitting on Joseph's bed, in his tiny room, declaring that he was going to kill their father and care for Joseph himself, despite the fact that they were both children. His hatred was bottomless, powerless, but it had come from a place of kindness.

This is something else.

"Next time you'll kill them yourself if you want to do them a kindness. Either you kill, or you die."

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

Rook has to get out of there, before the bleak world of Jacob's bunker swallows him whole.

There is no one in all of Hope County who could offer him the solace he seeks, but there is one person who comes close.

He leaves the vessel he calls Rook behind and spends a whole day watching over Joseph, watches him rise at the crack of dawn to attend to his followers' needs, speak to them in his small church and engage with John, who has indeed found refuge on his brother's island.

And if Rook closes his eyes and just listens to Joseph, takes every word out of his mouth at face value, accepting everything and doubting nothing, he can pretend that Joseph hasn't set the world on fire.

His words sound genuine because he has known suffering and hardship. Rook has not protected him from everything: Not from most of his father's beatings, not from hunger, or loneliness, or any kind of pain that was not life-threatening. That is Joseph's own test: To keep his humanity even when it feels like the world is intent on beating it out of him.

Rook wonders if he ever thinks about the man who appeared to save his life, whether Joseph considers him a sign of divine providence. He readily shares what the voice told him with whoever is willing to listen, but he has never mentioned the miracle of being saved twice by the same stranger. Not to anyone.

There is nothing written in Joseph's book about him.

Perhaps he's been forgotten.

Rook has certainly forgotten details of those two interactions. He can't for the life of him recall what name he gave Joseph that day, and the memory of Joseph's skin on his is hazy, pales in comparison to the pleasure he's found in John's body.

He watches them both from the sidelines, invisible and untouchable.

And he prays for them.

Then he has to get out of there as well, has to go anywhere else, somewhere without people, somewhere he can be whole again, but there is no such place left.

 

 

\-----------------------

 

 

Rook does not kill, so Jacob does it for him again.

That makes it Jacob's sin, not his, but these people are still dying because of him.

He doesn't know how to feel about that.

He doesn't know what to do anymore.

Jacob ups the difficulty, lets Rook go up against more opponents at the same time, and by the end of the week forty-nine people have died for Rook.

The fiftieth won't.

There is nothing remarkable about him, except for the fact that he's much younger than the others. Not a boy anymore, but not quite a man either. Snarling, eyes wild with fear, straining against the ropes as if that could possibly make a difference. He tries twisting his body out of the way of the knife, but nothing he does is enough to stop Jacob from going for the soft skin on his belly. He bleeds like all the others, screams and rages like everyone else.

But still Rook knows he won't die.

Because there is one of sisters standing behind him, one wing half draped over his frame to soothe him. Rook knows she needs to be careful, needs to make him lose consciousness from the blood loss before she can step in. Her only hope of getting him out of here is to make it look like he is well and truly dead to make Jacob lose interest in him. She'll heal him to the point that he'll survive, but nothing more. She'll step in right before he loses his life.

Any moment now.

Any. Moment. Now.

Any. ...?

There. Finally she walks around him and kneels in front of him, takes his face in her hands and caresses him like a lover. Due to the blood loss he might even be in a state where he can see her, or at least the shimmering outline of her body. Rook didn't want to take the chance with Joseph, found it safer to approach him in a mortal form, but with so many people around that's not an option for her. Now, in retrospect, he wonders what would have happened if he'd done the same.

Any moment now.

Any moment now she'll start healing him.

She has to make certain he's bled enough, she has to cut it close. That's just how it is.

Any moment now.

"Any moment now", he whispers in warning, because he's seen Jacob gut enough people by now, he knows exactly how it works and how long it takes. But even if she doesn't know that she has to _feel_ it when her own charge is close to losing his life, just like he felt it when it was Joseph.

So why isn't she doing any– ?

Oh, wait, there. She kisses his forehead and both of his cheeks, but that's all wrong, that's not how it works, this looks almost like –

"No! What are you doing, you have to save him!"

Jacob turns to look at him, surprise written in his features, because this is the first time Rook shows any kind of reaction to this grisly display. But it's not him Rook is talking to, it's his sister, who is now sealing her charge's lips in a kiss, the only contact between guardian and charge that is encouraged.

The moment when a mortal realizes that he's not alone, that he's never been alone, a moment of peace.

The final moment.

Because this is how a guardian accepts their charge's last breath.

"No! You can't let him die, not here, not like this! What's wrong with you?!"

She has to hear him, has to know that he is talking to him, but she doesn't even turn to look at him. Her focus is fully on her charge as it should be in such times, holding on to him until she can be certain his soul will follow wherever she goes.

Then they both fade from this world like they were never there, and all that remains is an empty, still bleeding body.

Rook just keeps staring, waiting for someone to show up and tell him that it's alright, this was just a cruel joke, she's coming back any moment now and will do it properly, but nothing happens.

Only Jacob comes to him, eyes uncharacteristically soft.

"Someone you knew?"

Rook just keeps staring, and waiting.

 

 

\----------------

 

 

Their task is simple.

Protect their charge throughout their life until the moment they die, then guide their soul to the gates. Most of the time that's easy, and dying is something a guardian doesn't have to worry about until the later stages of their charge's life.

It's more difficult with those who live violent lives or suffer from some ailment. There is no exact way of knowing when a person should die, when a guardian has to stop trying and just let go. There are those who die young, who die as children even, after a short life of suffering and without achieving anything. Their reward awaits in the afterlife.

They have to let their charges die when there's no hope of their condition ever improving, or when they have to fear they will lose their chance to step through the gates, when the life that will follow will only be steeped in sin. That's when they have to step in and end it.

But there's no way of knowing. Humans are fickle creatures, and it's impossible to tell where their path will lead them.

So how could she have known?

And more importantly the question he's really asking, the one that won't leave him alone in his cage where there is nothing else to focus on, only his own actions and the growing realization that he's _failed_ , and now it's too late to make amends.

How could _Rook_ have known?

 

\------------------

 

 

There was one day, or rather one night that stood out.

One night Jacob woke his brothers and led them out to the lawn, made them watch as he set everything on fire. He was quiet, they all were, everyone except Rook, who screamed and wailed and couldn't make anyone hear him.

"You've got to be kidding me."

He couldn't stop Jacob, could wrap him up in his wings but couldn't make him feel it, couldn't hold him back. It's all about choices and this was Jacob's, and Jacob wasn't his. Rook remembers the fire and his cold smile, tired and resigned.

"Three fucking months. You're something else, alright."

Rook didn't try to stop him. In a way he was grateful: Jacob's solution was wrong, utterly wrong, someone could have gotten killed, but it was a solution nonetheless. Back then he thought Jacob's sacrifice would keep Joseph and John safe. He hated himself for that thought – how could he sacrifice one person for another – but he just couldn't help it.

"Are you ready to listen now?"

He had thought about thanking Jacob, even though his options for that were fairly limited. In the end he had settled on touching him one last time when the police officers led him off, had pressed a brief kiss to his forehead. Rook had intended it to make it something reassuring, but now it occurs to him that he was only saying goodbye.

He did not expect to see Jacob ever again.

He had given up on him.

"Jacob? How is he holding up?"

He felt the kiss, Rook is certain. The boy was a man in the eyes of the law and he had been so calm and composed throughout it all, but when Rook pulled away Jacob started bawling his eyes out. And still Rook let him go, convinced himself he would be fine. It was the first and last time he saw Jacob cry.

"He's finally starting to come around. Give him another week of isolation and then I'm going to start training him for real."

Years later there was a priest Joseph spoke to when they found Jacob. A religious man, a good man, someone who was glad the tired, broken man living in his shelter was no longer alone. If Joseph and John hadn't come, the priest might have been able to help Jacob. Rook doesn't know whether there was anyone for John, he doesn't remember for sure, but there must have been. Maybe later down the road, someone he hadn't met yet, but someone he would've found if he had just continued on his path.

Would those two have been alright if Joseph hadn't come for them?

If Joseph hadn't –

"Deputy? Can you hear me?"

If he had let Joseph _die_ all those years ago while he was still free of sin, would everyone else have been saved as well? Is that the answer he was too blind to see?

If that is the answer, then everything that's happened is his fault.

All of Eden's Gate is his fault.

There are hands on his head, holding him, pulling him close until there's another face pressed against his. He shares a breath with the man kneeling in front of him.

"Won't you stop fighting already? Don't you see your struggle is futile?"

Is there even a way for him to make things right at this point? Is he fixing anything, or does he only make things worse?

Fifty people died for him already. How many more until his job is done?

"You are meant to be with us. That's what I've been told", Joseph says.

And something in Rook comes back to life.

 

 

\------------------

 

 

Despite the noise of the rain he still has Eli's words in his ear, Jacob's words, repeated a thousand times in the hopes he would finally learn his lesson. There's a gun in his hand, and he has no idea how it got there. If he's used it already.

"You are impossible. Absolutely impossible. I'm sure I almost had you, but then you – "

Jacob coughs up blood where he's lying on the ground, trying and failing to find the strength to get back to his feet. Rook knows he won't give up, won't stop trying until Rook makes him. His bloody smirk is proof of that: Jacob looks like he's actually having _fun_ , for the first time in years.

Again Rook is standing over a badly hurt Seed, again he has to make a decision, and again it's not a choice at all.

He is what he is. He can change his appearance, his voice, his gender if he wants, but he can't change his core. Jacob is not like John, Rook is not the same creature he was back then, but he will not stand by and watch this man die.  

He still needs to get Jacob's key, but he is oddly reluctant to approach him. The soldier looks like a wounded animal right now, not less but more dangerous than usual, unpredictable. Despite his wounds Jacob will fight, he knows that.

Rook goes for it anyway.

Jacob lunges for him as soon as his fingers get too close to the key. Rook has done this too often with John already, expects him to go for the throat, is shocked when Jacob goes for his legs instead. He knocks him over with his own weight and Rook's gun goes flying. Even in his injured state Jacob is more than able to hold his own; Rook can't get a hold of him, can't get him to stay down, not at first.

But there is no a human that can beat him at this, at anything; eventually Jacob is lying on his back with Rook straddling his waist and pinning his wrists together above his head. With his free hand he takes the key, and that's that.

He'll ask Jacob to confess and repent, and Jacob will refuse him just like John did. Then Rook will have to let him go, just like that. Probably heal him and help him get away from Eli and his men, as well.

But before that there's something he has to know.

"Do you remember?"

And no, that's not it.

_Why do you remember it wrong? Why do you flinch from my touch?_

There's only one way of knowing for sure.

He bends down. Jacob tenses when wings envelop him from both sides, eyes wide open and fixed on Rook's face. The emotion on his face almost looks like fear, but that can't be right because Jacob is never afraid of anything.

And Rook kisses his forehead again, just like he did so many years ago.

Or at least that was his intention.

Jacob waits until the very last moment to move; then he slams his head into Rook's jaw, hard enough to make him reel back. Pain has become a concept he's more than familiar with, both the fleeting fragile illusion of physical pain and the lingering, cutting blade of emotional hurt. It doesn't leave him unfazed, but by now he expects nothing else from the brothers. He's... somewhat disappointed perhaps, a little more discouraged. A little less himself.

But he won't surrender here, not while there's still something left for him to do.

"Tell Joseph", he begins and falters, but this is no time for hesitation.

"Tell Joseph I'm coming for him."

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... My brain wants to compensate for this fic with another one about a more evil Rook who gives as good as he gets and teaches the Seeds their place.  
>  I'm really tempted.

**Author's Note:**

> Things will get sad before they get better.  
> But they will get better.  
> That's what angel!Rook is for.


End file.
